


The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Clexmas (The 100), Clexmas 2020, Clexmas20, Day 3, F/F, it's the most wonderful time of the year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clarke loves Christmas.  Lexa hates it.  They both have good reasons... but will this difference be enough to pull them apart, or will they find a happy medium so the holidays really are the most wonderful time of the year?Or, proof that I really can't just write a cute little story without Tragic Backstory creeping in.For Clexmas 2020 - Day 3: It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 32
Kudos: 200





	The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Clarke loved Christmas. Clarke loved Lexa. What Clarke didn't love was the fact that it felt like the two had to be mutually exclusive. 

Because Lexa hated Christmas. She hated carols and decorations and eggnog... the last of which Clarke couldn't really argue with. Who had decided that adding alcohol to raw eggs made them somehow acceptable as a beverage? She hated that it taught people to equate Stuff with Love. She especially hated that a religious holiday had somehow bled so far into secular culture that if you said you didn't celebrate Christmas, people looked at you like you'd grown a second head... which Clarke had to admit she was guilty of herself, back when they'd first gotten together.

"Oh!" she'd said. "Are you Jewish?"

"No. I just don't celebrate Christmas."

"Oh." Clarke had frowned – she knew she'd frowned – and Lexa had squirmed and they'd changed the subject. 

Clarke hadn't thought about it again until she invited Lexa over to her apartment after she'd spent the weekend after Thanksgiving decorating. (Another thing Lexa hated was how every year it seemed like the start of the Christmas season got earlier, to the point where if you waited a little too long to buy Halloween candy, you were likely to find yourself face-to-face with Santa before you ever reached the peanut butter pumpkins.) She'd been so proud of herself... right up until Lexa winced. She'd visibly flinched and recoiled at the sight of the tree and all the decorations before pulling herself together and attempting to smooth her face back into a mask of careful neutrality.

"What's wrong?" Clarke had asked. 

Lexa shook her head, her jaw clenched. "I can't do this," she said, taking a step back, and then another until she found the door and slipped through it, out into the cold they'd just come in from, sucking wind like she'd just sprinted a mile. 

Clarke followed her, wrapping Lexa's coat around her shoulders and her scarf around her neck. "What's wrong?" she'd asked again, because it was clear that Lexa's antipathy toward Christmas wasn't simply a commentary on the evils of capitalism. 

Lexa had looked at her – just looked – for a long time. Finally, she'd turned her hands palm up, displaying the scattering of faint scars that Clarke had kissed one by one more than once but never asked about. "My mom died on Christmas," she said. "A car accident when she was out getting... I don't even remember what. Something it wouldn't be Christmas without. There was nowhere else for me to go, no one else to take me, so I spent the day in a hospital waiting room being fed candy and cocoa by nurses who probably already knew it was over but couldn't tell me. Then we went home and Dad started taking down all the decorations Mom had put up, and he handed me the angel from the top of the tree. The angel my mom said would always look out for us. But it didn't. Obviously. And I looked at it and its stupid lie of a smile, and I just... smashed it. And I picked up the pieces and crushed them in my hands until blood started dripping through my fingers, and..." She shook her head. "I don't celebrate Christmas." 

"Oh," Clarke had said, because what else could you say to a story like that? She knew Lexa didn't want to hear sorry; it was the last thing Clarke had wanted to hear after her father died, because what good did sorry do? So she'd just taken her hands, kissed her scars again and again, and taken her home, and stayed with her there until she was okay.

They hadn't gone back to Clarke's place until after the New Year, when Christmas had been tucked back into boxes until next year. 

Clarke had thought maybe time would take some of the sting out of the memories (even though it had been decades...), that maybe her own holiday cheer would rub off on Lexa, just a little, and desensitize her. Like exposure therapy. 

It hadn't been nearly as successful as Clarke had hoped. 

When they'd moved in together last year, Lexa hadn't said Clarke couldn't decorate. She hadn't said she couldn't put up a tree or hang a wreath or deck the halls with boughs of holly. She hadn't banned Santa or his reindeer (although she had made her feelings about that snitch Elf on a Shelf _very_ clear when his creepy face kept popping up everywhere during an unfortunate but necessary pre-Thanksgiving trip to the mall). She hadn't said anything at all.

She hadn't needed to. The way she tensed every time a Christmas song came on the radio, the way her jaw twitched every time they drove past a yard decked out with glittering reindeer or an inflatable Santa or Olaf buffeted by the breeze, said it for her. (Although she'd almost – _almost_ \- smiled at the inflatable dragon in a Santa hat.) 

Clarke had sifted through her boxes, finding the things she knew she would be miserable without, and a few others she didn't think would poke at Lexa's old but still raw wounds, and tried to scatter them so that no one room held too much holiday cheer, and Lexa had hugged her, to reassure both of them, Clarke thought, that she was okay. 

But it hadn't felt like Christmas, and Clarke hadn't felt like herself. She'd felt watered down, diluted, and a bit like part of herself was stuck in those boxes gathering dust along with her ornaments. 

Which was part of the reason – maybe most of the reason – that when her job offered her the opportunity to travel across the country and spend the month of December helping a new facility get itself up and running, she'd said yes without a second's hesitation. 

When she got home that night, she could already smell tomato sauce and melted cheese, and she didn't know which variation on the theme Lexa was serving up tonight, but it didn't matter. Clarke loved them all. 

"Hey Lex?" she called as she hung up her coat and made sure her keys were on their hook so Lexa wouldn't be able to say, 'Well if you put them where they belong...' when she couldn't find them in the morning. "We need to talk."

Silence. 

Even the sounds of stirring stopped, and Clarke realized when she saw the deer-in-the-headlights look on Lexa's face what she'd said, and what usually followed those words.

"Sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to toss the four most bone-chilling words in the English language at you." Clarke ducked under Lexa's arm and wrapped her arms around her waist, their hips bumping. "I meant I need to talk to you about something. Work-related. Not us-related." 

"Okay," Lexa said, still tense and wary. 

"They asked me if I could go help get our new facility going," Clarke said. 

"The one in Seattle?"

Clarke nodded. 

"When?" Lexa asked. 

"Starting right after Thanksgiving."

"That's... not much time," Lexa said. 

"I know," Clarke said. "But it's a great opportunity." 

Lexa's teeth dug into her lower lip, and she began stirring the sauce with renewed vigor, but it had probably already started sticking to the bottom of the pan. "You're... coming back, right?"

"What?" Clarke blinked. Had Lexa really thought...? "Of course I'm coming back! I'll be gone until the end of December, but I wouldn't just _leave_ with no notice like that. I would never accept a position that required relocation without talking to you first." Because Lexa's job required her to be here, and it was a job she loved and was passionate about, and leaving it would be... well, she wouldn't. Not even for Clarke. 

Lexa gave a quick nod, and Clarke wasn't sure if Lexa truly believed her. Even though they were happy together eleven months out of the year, they had hit the season where no matter how hard they tried they couldn't see eye-to-eye, and maybe Lexa felt that more than Clarke realized. 

"What about...?" Lexa asked. She didn't need to finish the question for Clarke to know what she was asking.

Clarke shrugged. "I'll decorate my hotel room," she said. "You won't have to see it." 

Lexa pressed her lips together and nodded, and Clarke wondered, just for a moment, if she'd filled in the blank incorrectly. What if Lexa hadn't been asking, 'What about Christmas?' What if she'd been asking, 'What about me?'

"I'll be home before New Year's," Clarke told her, because Lexa didn't hold a grudge against a holiday meant to mark letting go of the past and looking forward to the future... even if she wasn't particularly good at the letting go part. 

"Okay," Lexa said, wrapping her arms around Clarke and holding her a little too tight, and Clarke thought maybe she'd been too hasty in taking the assignment. But the moment passed and Lexa's grip loosened, and Lexa went back to making dinner and Clarke to get her suitcase and pack.

* * *

Lexa missed Clarke. It had only been a little over a week, but she missed Clarke so much it was like a constant ache, right in the center of her chest, and no matter what she did she couldn't shake it. It followed her even into sleep, where she dreamed night after night that she was searching for Clarke, or chasing her, but she was always just out of sight, just out of reach. 

She glanced at her phone, checking the time and adjusting for time zones, and sighed because Clarke wouldn't be done for another few hours, and then she would need to get dinner, and sometimes they ate together via FaceTime, but sometimes Clarke went out with the team from the new facility, and sometimes she was just tired and wanted to eat takeout in front of the TV. There was no way of knowing what kind of day it was going to be until Clarke told her... and that wouldn't be for a while. 

She switched over to the calendar, counting down the days until Clarke's return, then stopped when a little reminder popped up, and a little of the ache in her chest lifted. She pulled up her contacts and typed out a message.

 **Lexa:** Hanukkah Sameach!

A second later her phone started buzzing. She slid her finger across the screen to answer.

"You remembered!" Costia said. 

"My calendar remembered," Lexa admitted.

"But you remembered how to say Happy Hanukkah in Hebrew," Costia pointed out. "And thank you. I am currently elbow deep in potatoes... hence the call, rather than texting back."

"Latkes? I'll be right over."

Costia laughed. "You would be welcome. You know that."

"I know." Lexa smiled. Some people thought it was strange that she was still friends with her ex, but the world of lesbians was too small to cut every girl you ever broke up with out of your life. Things hadn't worked out between them not due to lack of love, but because their lives had taken them down different paths that they hadn't been able to reconcile. They didn't wish each other anything but happiness. Clarke had been Lexa's plus one to Costia's wedding a couple of years ago and it hadn't been even a little bit awkward. Now Costia and her wife were expecting their first child any day now, and Lexa couldn't wait to be an honorary auntie. 

The invitation was tempting, but it was a long drive. The latkes would be cold by the time she got there, and they didn't reheat well. It had been the one time Costia didn't get annoyed when Lexa hovered over her shoulder while cooking; latkes were best enjoyed fresh out of the pan, only waiting long enough for them to not burn your mouth when you took a bite. 

"How are you?" Costia asked. "How's Clarke?"

Lexa's smile faded. "I'm okay," she said. "Clarke's in Seattle."

"For the weekend?" Costia asked, having to raise her voice over the whir of the food processor.

"For the month," Lexa said. 

Costia was quiet for a moment, and Lexa didn't know if she was distracted or thinking. "But she'll be home for Christmas, won't she?"

Lexa shook her head, but they weren't on FaceTime so Costia couldn't see her. "No. She gets home the 30th."

"But... she loves Christmas," Costia said. 

"She does," Lexa agreed. "But she knows I don't, so..." She shrugged. "I think maybe she decided she would rather celebrate Christmas alone than not celebrate it with me." Her voice broke at the end, and she sucked back the tears that flooded her eyes. 

"Oh Lexa," Costia sighed. 

"And it sucks," Lexa said, "because it's just... everywhere." Which was something she and Costia used to laugh about, how pervasive Christmas was, and how Costia would roll her eyes when she discovered a token menorah in a window display, and how annoying she found it that so many people seemed to think Hanukkah was just 'Jewish Christmas'. Lexa hadn't minded – had even enjoyed – learning and sharing Costia's holiday traditions, because they didn't have a tragic backstory. Or, more accurately, Lexa didn't have a tragic backstory with them. She was pretty sure most Jewish holidays had a tragic backstory, historically speaking, and Hanukkah fell into the subcategory of 'they tried to kill us, we fought back, let's eat!' 

"And I miss her," Lexa said, "so fucking much. I miss how excited she gets when menus switch over from pumpkin spice to mint everything. I miss how she hums along to the Christmas muzak in the grocery store without even realizing it. I miss how her eyes light up when she sees all the decorations, and how proud she is when she finds just the right gift for someone, and how obsessive she gets about making sure the wrapping is perfect. No present is complete without a ribbon and a bow, you know."

"I guess I've been doing it wrong all these years," Costia said. 

Lexa let out a sigh that was almost a laugh. "And I just... I feel like I took that away from her. Because every time I see anything that has to do with Christmas, I'm that little girl in the waiting room again. Only..." 

"Only?" Costia prompted, when Lexa's silence stretched too long.

"I realized this year it doesn't hurt because of my mom. I mean, maybe a little... it will probably always hurt a little... but mostly... mostly it hurts because of Clarke. Because she's not here to see it or... or maybe because I can't help imagining her in Seattle, seeing all the lights and decorations and everything there and being so happy, and not having to feel like she can't be... because of me." 

"So fix it," Costia said, grunting either with the effort of trying to wring as much water from the potatoes as possible, or because the baby had kicked her. 

"How?" Lexa asked. "I can't just make myself start loving Christmas."

And then it hit her.

She didn't have to love Christmas. She just had to love Clarke. Because no two people, no matter how compatible, were ever going to love all of the same things. It wasn't how people, or relationships, worked. But you could love someone's love for something, their passion and enthusiasm, without loving the thing itself, couldn't you? 

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

Lexa wrapped herself in fleece and wool like armor – and immediately regretted all the extra layers when she opened the door to Anya's car. It was like climbing into a furnace, and she half expected the metal of the seatbelt would burn her fingers as she clicked it into place.

"Seriously, An?" she asked. 

"I'm cold-blooded," Anya said. "I need heat from an outside source."

"Pretty sure the proper term is actually 'exothermic'," Lexa said. "And last I checked, you are a mammal, so—"

"So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel?" Anya offered.

" _Not_ what I was going to say," Lexa said. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I know," Anya said, flashing a smug smile. "It's one of my best qualities."

Lexa snorted. "You ready for this?" she asked as they entered the flow – if it could be called a flow when the traffic was more stop than go – of cars searching for a place to park in the downtown shopping district. 

"Me?" Anya asked. "You're the one who wants to barbecue Rudolph." 

"I don't—" Lexa shook her head. "I need to do this. It's important." 

"Then I'm with you," Anya said, reaching across to punch her lightly in the arm, which was the Anya equivalent of a hug. Warm and fuzzy she was not, but she was Lexa's ride-or-die, and the fact that she was willing to act as a buffer for Lexa in the holiday shopping crowds was proof.

They finally found a spot, and after a few minutes of deep breaths while Lexa tried to still her hammering heart, they got out and entered the stream of pedestrians, allowing themselves to be pulled along until Lexa got her bearings and began to formulate a plan.

"Just one more stop," Lexa said, when she'd done as much as she could stand to do. Anya looked up at the sign above the door and raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure?" she asked. 

"I'm sure," Lexa said. Bells jingled as she pushed open the door.

* * *

"Clarke!" 

The director of the new facility, Maya, rushed up to her just as she was putting her coat on. It was Christmas Eve, and they had decided to knock off early so people could get home to their families, but Clarke seemed to be the only one getting ready to leave, and she wondered if she had misunderstood.

"Hey," Clarke said, glancing around as heads popped out from various offices and cubicles. "Merry Christmas." 

"Merry Christmas!" Maya said. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." She had a card clenched in her hands, and she held it out to Clarke. "Just a small token of our appreciation for all your help these last few weeks," she said. 

"Thank you," Clarke said. She took the envelope and started to slip it into her purse to open back at her hotel, but everyone was watching her so intently she stopped. "Did you want me to open it now?" she asked. 

"Yes," Maya said. "You should definitely open it now." She was smiling to widely Clarke thought her cheeks must be starting to hurt. 

"Okay," Clarke said. She slipped her finger under the flap, feeling completely on the spot with so many pairs of eyes intent on her every move. She slipped the card out and opened it... and blinked when she found herself staring at a plane ticket. "What's this?" she asked.

"You've done so much for us," Maya said. "We wanted to do something for you. It can't be easy being away from your friends and family for so long, and to have to spend Christmas away, too? It didn't seem right. So we talked to corporate and they agreed we should be fine finishing things up here on our own – with you available for remote support, of course – and they got you a ticket home. We all chipped in for the upgrade." 

Clarke looked again, and sure enough, the ticket was for first class. She'd never flown anything but coach in her life. The coffee and donuts Clarke had brought in that morning now seemed like a pretty pathetic gift in comparison to what she'd been given. "This... it's too much," she said. "I—"

"You need go back to your hotel and pack so you don't miss your flight!" Maya said. She opened her arms, and Clarke hugged her, and then everyone else she'd gotten to know over the last few weeks, saying thank you over and over until there was no one left as they all began to gather their things for their own trips home. 

Back in her hotel room, she looked around at the decorations she'd put up, just like she'd said she would, and felt a pang at leaving them. Not because they meant anything; they were just cheap generic store-bought things. But because when she got home, there would be nothing. Not a single hint that tomorrow was anything other than another day, except that they had the day off from work. 

For a second – just for a second – she considered calling the airline and seeing if she could change her flight to the day after Christmas. She was sure there was plenty to see and do in Seattle, even on Christmas, maybe especially on Christmas, and she wouldn't have the pretend that it didn't bother her that she felt the need to swallow down her joy to accommodate Lexa's trauma.

Even if Lexa had never asked her to.

But in the end, she packed her bags – including a few of the decorations, because it might be all she got – and headed to the airport. 

Once she was through security and settled at the gate, she texted Lexa. 

**Clarke:** Looks like I'll be home for Christmas after all. 

**Clarke:** They decided to surprise me with a flight home.

The response was almost immediate. 

**Lexa:** That's amazing! When do you get in? I'll pick you up.

Clarke blinked. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but somehow the possibility of Lexa being excited about her being home for Christmas hadn't crossed her mind. But maybe it wasn't about Christmas. Maybe she was just glad Clarke was coming home. Which ought to feel good, but...

She sent her flight details, then added:

 **Clarke:** You don't have to pick me up. I can get a Lyft. 

She didn't get a response until they were starting to board the plane. 

**Lexa:** Are you sure?

 **Clarke:** I'm sure. I don't get in 'til late. 

**Lexa:** I don't mind.

 **Clarke:** It's fine, Lex. Promise. I'll see you when I get home.

 **Lexa:** If you change your mind, let me know.

 **Clarke:** I won't. See you soon. Love you.

 **Lexa:** Love you too.

Clarke switched her phone into airplane mode and shoved it in her pocket, then got in line to board with first class. At least she could drown her dread of coming home to a lack of Christmas with free alcohol. That had to count for something.

* * *

Lexa scrolled up, scanning the brief but pointed exchange over and over again. No matter how many times she read the words, she couldn't help feeling like Clarke didn't want to come home... and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. 

But she was going to fix it. She'd already started, assembling everything she needed from the storage unit in the basement and the things she'd bought on her shopping trip with Anya. She hadn't done much toward putting it all together yet, because she didn't want to give anything away during her nightly FaceTimes with Clarke, but she had a plan.

A plan she now had hours instead of days to bring to fruition. 

Shit. 

She looked around, not knowing where to begin. She tried to channel Clarke... but she'd never witnessed the process, only the end result that first year, because when they'd moved in together Clarke had only put out a few things here and there. Lexa had assumed – because she wanted to believe – that it was enough. 

It wasn't enough. 

Because Clarke loved Christmas. Clarke loved Christmas because her father had loved Christmas. When she lost him, it had rocked her world, and that was a pain they had in common, an understanding they had of each other that not many others shared. But instead of rejecting the holiday, Clarke had leaned into it, wrapped herself up in it, used its celebration as a way to remember her father. A Christmas tree wasn't just a Christmas tree to her – it was a memorial. 

And Lexa had ignored that. 

But not anymore, and never again. 

She opened the lid of one of the boxes, hoping something inside would give her clarity, a sense of direction... or at least a place to start... and found herself face-to-face with an angel. She almost slammed the lid back down again... but this wasn't the angel that had betrayed her. This angel was a child's creation, made of paper doilies gone ragged with age, its face bearing a faded marker smile that seemed to say, 'It's okay. We've got this.'

Lexa let out a slow breath. "You're right," she said, setting the angel carefully in the center of the mantel. "Let's do this thing."

* * *

By the time her Lyft dropped Clarke off at home, it was past eleven. She glanced up at the window she knew was their condo, and thought she saw a faint glow creeping around the shades. Either Lexa had waited up, or she'd left a light on for Clarke so the place wasn't pitch dark when she got in. Both options thawed a little of the ice that had crusted around Clarke's heart the closer she'd gotten to home. 

When she got to their door, Clarke had to check the number to make sure she hadn't accidentally ended up on the wrong floor, because there was a wreath on it that she certainly hadn't hung before leaving. She glanced around, thinking maybe it was something the condo association had given out as a gift, that every door would have one, but of the four doors in their little cluster, only two were cheerfully adorned. 

The cognitive dissonance only magnified when she unlocked the door and stepped inside and found herself ducking through strings of icicle lights that dangled down over the opening and lined the short hallway, giving the space a soft glow. 

"Lexa?" she called as she toed off her shoes and set them neatly on the mat, then began to unwind her scarf. "Are you home?" _Were we reverse-robbed by elves? Did the plane accidentally cross into another dimension while I was sleeping?_

She stepped gingerly into the open space that was their living, dining, and kitchen all in one... and stopped dead in her tracks. Because in her absence it had been transformed into a winter wonderland. There were lights and garland and tinsel everywhere. Glittering snowflakes dangled from the ceiling, and candles that smelled of cinnamon and cider and every other good thing scented the room. There was even a tree in the corner, twinkling with lights but no ornaments. 

And there, sitting on the mantel, was the paper angel she'd made when she was in kindergarten, or maybe even preschool, that her father had insisted on putting on the tree year after year, even when it started to get ratty. Clarke had offered to replace it, or make a new one, but he'd told her it wouldn't be the same, and now she was glad, so glad, that he'd been so stubborn.

Clarke turned and found a plate of cookies on the kitchen counter, and when she went for a closer look, she found that some of them were still warm. "Lex?" she called again, the word muffled by a mouthful of gooey chocolate goodness. 

And there she was, finally, peeking around the corner, looking, if anything, a little shy. "Welcome home," she said softly. 

"Did you do all this?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa nodded. 

"Even the cookies?" 

Lexa's face scrunched in a scowl that quickly turned into a laugh. "Yes," she said. "Even the cookies. Just don't look in the garbage." 

Clarke immediately went toward the can, but Lexa blocked her path, hooking an arm around her waist and reeling her in. "I said _don't_ look in the garbage," she said, turning it into a dance when Clarke tried to move around her to see if she was joking. Because the last time Lexa tried to bake anything, it had ended up a little more than a little overdone. Which was _not_ Clarke's fault, because even if she _had_ distracted Lexa, she wasn't responsible for the fact that Lexa hadn't set a timer in the first place. 

Clarke finally gave up, popping the last bite of the cookie – which was perfectly baked, with crispy edges and a gooey middle, just the way she liked them – between Lexa's lips. "You really did this?"

Lexa nodded. 

"Why?" Clarke asked. "You hate Christmas." And there was no way she could have pulled all of this together in the few hours since Clarke told her she was coming home. Which meant she'd been planning it, decorating bit by bit over at least a day or two, if not longer. 

"Because you love Christmas," Lexa said, "and I love you. And having you gone... and knowing it might be because you would rather be alone for Christmas than stuck living with the Grinch... I realized how selfish I've been. How unfair it is for me to make you feel like you have to keep that part of you stuffed in boxes gathering dust. I've forced you into a Christmas closet, and it's not right. I realized that yes, Christmas holds bad memories for me, but... it's possible to make new ones. Better ones. And I want to do that with you. Starting now."

She took Clarke's hand and led her to a little set of shelves that hadn't been there before. It was divided into little boxes. No, drawers. There were 24 little drawers, painted red and green and numbered, one for each day leading up to Christmas.

"You have some catching up to do," Lexa said. 

Clarke's hands were shaking as she opened the first drawer. Inside was a little figurine of a gorilla, a memento of their trip to the zoo where Clarke had nearly had a heart attack when, while she had her back to the glass, a gorilla had snuck up on her so when she turned around they were face to face. She laughed and moved on to the next drawer, and the next. Some of them contained memories, others art supplies (a set of pencils, a few tubes of paint, some brushes, because Clarke kept saying she wanted to get back into art and then doing nothing about it), and others things that just made Clarke smile... and smile brighter because Lexa had known they would. Finally she reached the last drawer and pulled out a small box tied with a ribbon.

Lexa held out her hand. "Let me get that one for you," she said. 

Clarke frowned in confusion but handed it over. Lexa slipped the ribbon off and opened the lid... and Clarke found herself staring at a diamond that shone bright as the star of Bethlehem. 

When she looked at Lexa, she was on one knee. "Clarke Griffin, will you marry me?"

Clarke's eyes stung and a lump formed in her throat too big to squeeze words past, so she took Lexa's face between her hands instead, nodding and kissing her and nodding some more. 

Lexa pulled the ring from its box and slipped it onto Clarke's finger, and Clarke pulled her in and held her so tight they had to time their breaths to fit them between them. "Yes," she whispered. "Lexa, Lexa..." She kissed her again, and again, and now they were both crying and their faces were wet and Clarke didn't care because her heart had grown three sizes in the span of a single question. 

"I didn't decorate the tree," Lexa said. "I know that's your favorite part, so I thought we could do that together. Tonight, or tomorrow, or—"

"Tomorrow," Clarke said. "Tonight I need you to show me what you did to the bedroom. _Now._ "

Lexa's eyes sparkled as her lips spread in a grin. "I don't think you'll be disappointed," she said. 

Clarke wasn't. Neither of them were. And it had nothing to do with the decorations.


End file.
